


And Only by Death

by quartzguts



Category: Xenoblade Chronicles 2 (Video Game)
Genre: F/F, First Meetings, Love at First Sight, it looks angsty but its cute i promise
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-09
Updated: 2019-06-09
Packaged: 2020-04-23 06:53:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,842
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19145791
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/quartzguts/pseuds/quartzguts
Summary: ...shall we be parted.When their eyes met, Brighid’s core whispered ‘driver’ in awe.





	And Only by Death

**Author's Note:**

> *slams hands on table* this has been in my drafts since february
> 
> This will probably come off as ooc because it's set several years before canon, so the girls aren't as confident as they are in the game

As always, Brighid was confused when she woke up. She was standing up high on a pedestal with crowds of cheering people beneath her, shouting praise for her beauty and strength to the skies. Confetti glittered with the light of the sun as it swirled through the hot air, brightening up the dull looking city with bits of purple and blue. The only person standing level with her was a strikingly beautiful woman with dark eyes and oily black hair. She was holding an ornate looking book in her hands. When their eyes met, Brighid’s core whispered ‘driver’ in awe.   


 

“Brighid,” she said, and her voice was cold and smooth like glass, “the people of Mor Ardain celebrate your return. May the memories of the past guide you towards a better future for all our people.” She held out the book.   


 

The pedestal was metal, and burned hot against Brighid’s feet as she stepped forward to receive the gift. Brighid turned it in her hands, examining it. The book was clearly a journal, locked with a gold latch that was more decorative than functional. She was pleasantly surprised to find that its deep blue cover matched the hues of her dress. A sapphire ribbon was tucked into the first page. She opened it and began to read.   


 

The contents were a letter, both written by and addressed to herself. Brighid smiled and clutched the diary to her chest.   


 

“Thank you,” she said to her driver.   


 

The woman smiled. The short, soft lashes framing her eyes fluttered as she closed her eyes to blink against the bright sun. Brighid nearly died on the spot.

 

“Think nothing of it,” she said, crossing her arms behind her back formally. “I am Mòrag Ladair, High Inquisitor of Mor Ardain. You are Brighid, the Jewel of our nation. As is traditional, you have been entrusted to me.”   


 

“How fortunate,” Brighid said, trying to find her confidence, “that my driver is to be a lovely woman such as yourself.”   


 

A faint blush dusted Mòrag’s cheeks. A score! Brighid smiled mischievously.   


 

“Well,” Mòrag said. “We should go and report to the Emperor. He’s currently watching the ceremony from the throne room.”

 

Brighid immediately caught on to the hint of dissatisfaction in her voice. “As is  _ traditional _ ?”   


 

“Indeed,” Mòrag replied. She turned to walk towards the palace, her boots clicking against the stairs as she descended the pedestal. Brighid chuckled and set off after her.   


 

When they reached the ground, Brighid was pleased to find no soldiers stepped in to shield them from the crowd. She shook mens’ hands, kissed womens’ cheeks, and said hello to children on their way to the palace. Mòrag slowed her pace, moving to walk beside Brighid instead of marching on ahead. Brighid coaxed her into nodding at the people as they passed, but something told her that her driver wasn’t relaxed enough to kiss cheeks or hold babies.

 

That was okay. Brighid could do it for her. Just like Mòrag could guide her forward when she came too close to stopping completely.

 

The Emperor’s palace was less extravagant than she had expected. Plush tapestries and carpets lined the halls, but it seemed like they had simply been laid over the harsh metal walls and floor to make the place look more luxurious. Brighid flipped through the pages of her diary as they walked, letting Mòrag steer her with a gentle hand on her arm. Heat permeated the air, and the open windows allowed gusts of dry, hot wind to swirl through the hallway. It was only after they passed into an enclosed part of the palace that the whirring of air conditioning brought cooler air into Brighid’s lungs. She missed the heat, but something about it bothered her.   


 

She turned to her driver. “Is it always this hot?”   


 

Mòrag looked at her curiously. “Do you remember it being different?”   


 

“Not exactly,” Brighid answered honestly. “I haven’t done more than skim my diary, but the heat doesn’t seem... right. It’s hard to explain.”   


 

Mòrag nodded. “You are correct. The Ardanian titan is dying. As it reaches the end of its lifespan, the climate grows hotter and hotter. It has placed a great strain on our people.”   


 

Brighid lowered her head in thought. “Then we must do whatever we can to protect Mor Ardain’s future,” she said.   


 

“Yes, I agree completely. We can discuss it with the Emperor when we see him.”   


 

Brighid chuckled. “You’re awfully anxious to see him. Who is he? You two must be related somehow, yes?”   


 

Mòrag cleared her throat. “Is it that obvious?” she murmured. “Yes, I am eager to see him. We are cousins, but with how we were raised I see him as my younger brother. We haven’t seen each other for some time.”   


 

“Younger brother, hm?” Brighid echoed. She had to stop herself from getting lost in those dark eyes. Had to remind herself to speak. “How intriguing. You must tell me more.”   


 

“Oh?”   


 

“Drivers and blades should know everything about each other,” Brighid said. She clutched her diary to her chest. “Besides, I need to write something later, and I think I’d like to write about you.”   


 

Mòrag smiled. She turned her eyes away for just a moment. Nervousness, perhaps? “Very well. Allow me to tell you about myself....”

 

By the time they reached the throne room, Brighid had learned a lot about her new driver. Mòrag was twenty years old. She had been prepared to take the throne when she reached of age, but her brother’s birth when she was nine set her on a different course. She served as High Inquisitor - a title only surpassed by the emperor’s - acting as his ambassador, enforcer, and advisor all at once. Although, since she’d only held the position for a month, she hadn’t done much diplomacy or enforcing yet. Just a lot of advising.

 

“Regardless,” Brighid said, “you must be quite talented to have been selected for such a position.”

 

“I only do what the Emperor asks of me,” Mòrag said.

 

“And the Emperor? What is his name?”

 

“Niall,” Mòrag replied, “and his blade - oh! I can’t believe I forgot.”

 

Brighid leaned in. “Oh?”

 

“Check your diary. You should have written often about a blade named Aegaeon - he is Emperor Niall’s blade currently, but he has been passed down the royal family alongside you for many centuries.”

 

Brighid flipped through the pages. Just as Mòrag said, there were many, many entries that mentioned Aegaeon. Her eye caught on one in particular, near the front of the book.

 

It was dated five hundred years prior. The page was less of an entry and more of a sketch; there were a few faces, but the most prominent was marked “Aegaeon.” The sketches immediately below it were labelled “Hugo,” “Lora,” and “Jin,” although the last one had been destroyed by a stray water stain. Beneath the portraits was a charming anecdote about how the five of them had gotten lost in the desert looking for edible plants. Aegaeon had cooked them all a wonderful meal afterwards.

 

Bridgid chuckled. “It seems he and I are rather close,” she said.

 

“Yes, I would imagine so,” Mòrag replied. “My apologies for not mentioning him earlier. I was… distracted.”

 

“A forgivable sin.”

 

They stood in companionable silence as Brighid glanced over the rest of her diary. The memories swirled up from the pages, spiriting Brighid to far away times and places, long forgotten by humans and blades alike. Some memories told of sunlit days, glorious victory in battle, and the sweet happiness of time spent with friends. Others, usually penned near the end of her drivers’ lives, were melancholy and nostalgic. Although she couldn't actually remember any of it, each entry was so detailed that she had no problem reliving it vicariously. She resolved to record this life just as carefully as the others.

 

She glanced up at Mòrag. She was standing at attention on the other side of the hall, having moved there to give her privacy. The harsh sunlight shining in from the high windows seemed to set her face aglow. She still looked vaguely nervous, but Brighid expected that much. By her own admission, she had never been a driver before. She’d only assumed she had the aptitude to become one. And yet, despite that, Brighid felt an affinity with her that was so strong it made her want to forgo privacy and run to her side.

 

Perhaps she would record this life  _ more  _ carefully than the others.

 

The last entry in her diary referenced a battle to come, to be fought the next day in Gormott at her driver’s side. There was nothing else except for a small note in the morning about breakfast alongside him. Brighid shivered.

 

“Are you alright?” Mòrag asked. She had immediately noticed that something was wrong and had come over. Her eyes were sharp with concern.

 

“Fine,” Brighid murmured. “I just realized my last driver perished in battle quite unexpectedly.”

 

Mòrag nodded. “My uncle,” she said simply, “at one of the last battles in the Gormotti War. It's been nearly ten years, now.”

 

Ten years. Ten years since she last lived. Had she simply rested on a pillow behind glass, being admired like a precious jewel from then until now? The thought of time lost to unconscious recovery from past wounds made her heart falter uncomfortably. How deep were those injuries, to leave her slumbering for so long?

 

Brighid was so lost in thought and anxiety that she didn’t notice Mòrag moving closer. The gentle touch of gloved fingers on her cheek shocked her enough that she almost dropped her diary.

 

“I cannot know the future,” Mòrag said, her voice much softer than it had been just moments before, “and there may be trouble in the years to come. I cannot guarantee either your safety or mine. But know this; I will do everything in my power to protect you.”

 

Brighid knew from the heat rising in her cheeks that she was blushing. Mòrag stroked the red skin with her thumb. Despite the tender, casual touch of one hand, the other was still tucked behind her back formally.

 

Brighid laughed. Had she felt like this before, with her previous drivers? Had they made her feel weak at the knees and short of breath like Mòrag Ladair did? She’d have to double check later, but she felt as if she already knew the answer.

 

Never before. Maybe never again.

 

She turned her face to Mòrag’s hand and kissed her fingertips. “As your blade, I should be the one protecting you, yes?”

 

Mòrag smiled softly. “I suppose we’ll just have to see.”

 

They entered the throne room only moments later. Niall smiled at them as he glanced at their hands, hanging restlessly at their sides. Eager to reach for each other again. Niall and Aegaeon probably wouldn’t mind if they did, but Mòrag would.

 

It didn’t matter to Brighid. They had the rest of their lives ahead of them, after all.

 

Only by death would they be parted.


End file.
